Swim That Rock (26 page)

Vito nods to a few people as he winds through the crowd and makes his way toward the stage.

“What is
he
doing here?” my mom says in a harsh whisper.

“I guess he paid his twenty bucks, I don’t know,” I respond, but I’m nervous too. I’m also wondering what Paul is doing here with him.

Vito steps up onto the stage and puts his hand out to Jay. “May I?” Jay reluctantly hands him the microphone and steps off. Paul looks around nervously as he waits by the door.

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to stop the party.” Vito laughs to himself and holds out his hand. “I just want to say a few words.” Vito squints at the door. “Paul, get up here.” Paul drops his head and works his way toward the stage. A path clears in front of him, and I’m wondering what the heck is going on. Paul climbs up onstage and stands there like he just got detention. If the stage doesn’t break now, it never will.

“I know a lot of you know me. Hell, I helped most of you buy your houses and boats and whatever, but I don’t know if you know my son, Paul.” Vito puts his arm around Paul, and the poor guy looks like he wants to puke. “Well, my boy was out there with you all yesterday, and he was having some trouble. It’s not easy, what you guys do, and I appreciate that. But Paul here is not one to ask for help. Stubborn like his dad, I guess.”

“Get to the point,” Brendan Tooley barks.

Vito scans the audience until he finds Brendan and gives him a hard look. “Hey, Brendan,” he says, smiling, “you want to keep that new boat of yours? Then shut your trap.” Vito turns back to the crowd, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Where was I? . . . Jake Cole, come up here.”

I feel a thousand eyes on me, and my mom holds me back, but I step forward anyway. I don’t think the guy is going to do anything with all these witnesses, but even so, my palms are slick with sweat.

Vito reaches out his hand, and I take it and he pulls me up onto the stage. “This kid helped my son out yesterday. He wasn’t asked to, he wasn’t paid to . . . he just did it.”

I look over at Paul, and he nods at me, but his eyes look away quickly.

“Now, stuff like that builds community,” Vito says, resting one arm across the microphone stand. “And I’m all about community. Jimmy! Who helped you get that new engine for your boat?”

“You did.” Jimmy Paterno grunts from the back of the diner.

“That’s right. And who helped Gus Bellman rebuild when his shoe store burned down?”

“You,” a few voices grumble.

“So you see, I’m all for community, just like Jake here.” Vito reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a stack of folded papers and hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking the papers.

“Give that to your mom. She’ll know what to do with them.” Vito takes a look around the room. “Nice place. Come on, Paul, let’s go.” Vito tries putting the microphone back in the stand but quickly gives up and drops it on the floor, where it lands with a loud thump and a squeal of feedback. Everyone watches in a dumbfounded silence as they exit the door.

My mom, Robin, Darcy, and Tommy rush the stage.

“One heck of a way to serve an eviction notice!” My mom grabs the papers from my hand and quickly opens them.

The first page is a slightly torn sheet of green paper that reads: “Save the Riptide! Come to the Cabaret!” in big letters across the top. I recognize the handwriting immediately and stare at Tommy.

“What? I got a friend that works at the copy shop.” Tommy shrugs.

“And you gave one to
Vito
?” I ask.

“No, I just put one on his car. Darcy had me make like three hundred copies. I wasn’t gonna waste ’em.”

My mom flips to the next page. It looks official, with lots of small writing and a few embossed stamps on the bottom.

“What’s it say?” I plead. “Do we have to leave now?”

She is holding it close to her face as she reads, and I can see her hands begin to shake, and without warning she throws her arms around me, and then Darcy and Tommy and Robin squeeze us all together.

“What is it, Mom?”

“It’s the deed, Jake.” She’s crying now. “It’s the deed to the Riptide. We own it now, free and clear!”

We are not moving to Arizona.

I wake up at five thirty. I don’t have to be at school until seven thirty, but I put on some old jeans and a T-shirt and head downstairs anyway. Since the cabaret, business at the Riptide has been great, and my mom has been really happy.

I see Gene sitting in the last booth by the window. He must have snuck in. He still looks pale, but he’s much stronger and told me he’ll be able to get back out in the boat before the end of the month. He has something wrapped in newspaper on the table in front of him.

“Morning, Jake.” His eyes have that concerned look, and his eyelids are quivering like he’s thinking hard about something.

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Whaddya think, Jake? This is a big day.” Gene looks nervous, fiddling with the wrapping paper. “I wanted to wish you luck on your first day of high school, what else?”

I slide into the booth across from Gene, and he pushes the package in front of me. I open it up and see that it’s a picture frame. Turning it over, I see a photograph of me, bullraking at Barrington Beach. There’s Tommy, sitting on huge pile of quahogs, with a million boats in the background. Along the bottom is a newspaper clipping that reads,
LOCAL QUAHOGGERS HIT IT BIG
.

I lift it up to get a good look. Gene smiles, and tears begin to well up in his eyes.

“This is awesome! How’d you get this?” I ask.

“Johnny Bennato’s got friends everywhere, even on the newspaper staff. They were out there taking pictures all day.”

“This is definitely going up on that wall,” I say, pointing to the pictures and memorabilia above the counter.

“You’ll find a spot for it.”

I pull the knife out of my pocket and place it on the table in front of him. Gene picks it up and turns it over in his hand, with a knowing smile.

“Where did you get this?” he says, studying the pearl inlays.

“It’s my dad’s. George gave it to me.” I say this reluctantly, still almost afraid to mention his brother. “You know I worked for him, while you were in the hospital.”

“I know. Your mother told me. My brother and I used to be close, but now . . .” Gene’s voice drifts off and he stares out the window.

He holds the knife out. “We all have one.”

“A knife, like this?”

“Your father made this. He made one for all of us . . . me, George, and himself.” Gene hesitates. “He made one for you too, you know.”

“He did?”

“He wanted you to have it when you were old enough, when you were ready.” Gene taps the glass on the picture frame. “I guess you’re ready now, huh?”

“You have it?”

“It’s here. It’s been here all along, Jake.” Gene points above the counter, where the striped bass is mounted. “It’s inside that.”

I rush over and grab a step stool and place it under the fish. My dad caught this fifty-pound striper the week before I was born and had it mounted as a trophy. I reach up and try to take it down but quickly realize that the wooden backing is screwed to the wall.

“Reach into his mouth,” Gene calls over.

I carefully put my hand into the fish’s open mouth, past his teeth, pushing through cobwebs and into the hollow of his belly. And I feel it. Just like the one I’ve been carrying around in my pocket for weeks.

Thank you, Dad.

I look at the knife, and with my thumb I rub the dust off one side, revealing the initials.

J. M. C.
Jake Michael Cole.
My name.

“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I owe you.” I walk back over to the booth.

Gene gets all scrunched up in the face, and he’s struggling to speak. “Owe me? Jake . . . what do you mean?” He pauses and then says, “You saved my life.”

“No, I didn’t. Your brother saved your life.”

“No, Jake, I mean . . . you saved my life, this life.” Gene starts gesturing around the room, the stools, the pictures on the walls, and then slaps both hands down on the table and rubs them across it as if it were made of the finest hardwood.

“I never even had a real life before this. I was going nowhere, digging every day, making money with nothing to spend it on but that old boat in my yard. Now you’ve given me something to love, something to care about. I mean, take a look at my brother — he doesn’t have that. He’s a pirate, chasing thrills. He doesn’t care about anybody.”

I’m not sure what he’s saying, and I must have a puzzled look on my face because he reaches across the table and grabs both my arms and leans in close to me.

“You did it, Jake. Don’t you understand? You saved this place. You and your mom and the memory of your dad . . . that’s my family. They were going to take that all away, and you saved it.”

Gene pauses, and his head is moving from side to side like he’s searching for something. “I guess what you always want in life is right in front of you, and you have to treasure it, and you have to love it enough to do whatever it is to keep it safe and protected. Isn’t that the way it is?”

“I learned that from you a long time ago,” I say, suddenly understanding him.

“Isn’t that the way it is?” he repeats.

“That’s the way it is.”

Just then, there is a loud rapping sound on the window. We both look to see Darcy and Tommy standing at the door, backpacks in hand and all ready to go to school. We still have an hour before school starts. Tommy leans his head into the doorway.

“Come on, Jake, you’re not ready. Even Darcy’s already dressed.” Darcy punches Tommy on the arm.

“I’ll be ready in a minute. Come inside and wait.”

Darcy walks in like a runway model, moving her hips from side to side, showing off her new jeans and a new shirt. It’s not short-sleeved, but it isn’t quite long-sleeved either.

“Hi, Tommy. Who’s your friend?” Gene pretends not to recognize her.

Tommy gets down low and points to Darcy’s butt. “New jeans, meet old Gene. Old Gene, this is New Jeans.”

Gene starts laughing. “Tommy, I may be a little beat up, but I’m far from old.”

I grab the knives and the photo and head up to my room to get changed. I get dressed quickly and loop my belt as I come down the stairs. Tommy’s at the bottom step, and I have to move around him as I enter the diner.

“You didn’t miss a step,” he says.

“And you didn’t conk your head,” Darcy adds, and they are both staring at me.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

“So, maybe it’s not gonna be Jake Unco this year?” Tommy smiles.

“Yeah, that’d be good. What about you?” I ask, looking at Tommy’s sneakers, all glued together.

“Oh, I’ll always be Trashman Tommy, but what they don’t get is, I really don’t care.”

“If the shoe fits.” Darcy gently kicks his sneakers.

“Come on, let’s go.” Tommy starts dragging us toward the door.

Gene gets up from the booth slowly, groaning as he stretches to stand.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.” I stand next to Gene as they head out the door.

“You have some great friends there,” Gene says.

“Yeah, I do.”

I lean in and give Gene a big hug, and he hugs me back and I feel like he’s never going to let go.

“Take it slow, with your shoulder and all,” I say, pulling away.

“Aye, aye.” Gene slaps me on the back. “Now get the hell out of here. Go get a bushel of A’s this year. I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow.”

As I move up the street, I look back through the window to see Gene greeting my mom as she puts on her apron. She has a flower in her hair, and she’s smiling at him as he walks over to the counter.

I catch up with Tommy and Darcy about a block away, and I slide my hand into hers. She takes it and holds on for two blocks as the three of us walk silently.

When we get there, Tommy stops abruptly at the bottom of the front steps of the high school. We’re still early, with just a few kids waiting outside. Vinny Vile and Jim Allen are kicking the backpacks that are lined up against the wall as they head inside.

“Oh, crap,” Tommy says. “Some things never change.”

Darcy pulls Tommy and me in close, and the three of us are in a tight huddle.

“Let’s do this together,” Darcy says.

“That’s cool with me.” Tommy nods in agreement.

“It’s the only way,” I say as we start up the steps and walk through the open front door.